


Further Reading

by DustToDust



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 21,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrelated drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mullet

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr request for Dami to find out about Dick's unique fashion sense via Tim's stalkerish ways. More focused on the fashion because I think Damian would approve of stalking.

Damian lets himself into Drake’s room. There is nothing much of worth to entertain him with at home since Pennyworth barred him from training for the next three hours so he is left to find his own sources. Drake, in the process of acquiring his own living space, is in the midst of packing. A tedious process that Richard had insisted Damian help them both with. A prospect that seemed to have agreed with Drake as much as it had Damian at the time.

A reaction that was explained when all Richard did was throw objects and clothing around in an unorganized mess while making fun of Drake's tastes. An amusing sport that did nothing to alleviate the annoyance of his older brother’s haphazard packing skills. Drake had eventually thrown the idiot out and the two of them had made significantly better progress afterwards.

Damian shifts through the well organized pile of boxes until he finds the one he is looking for. It’s slightly battered and had come out of Drake’s closet already sealed. The man had become evasive when Richard asked about it, and openly hostile when Damian tried to open it.

The tape is old and peels up easily. Meaning Drake has had this box sealed for a good while now. Inside are books. No, Damian picks one up, they are photo albums. Richard has, of course, gone on at length about Drake’s photographic skills, but Damian has never seen them before. Intrigued he opens the album.

And almost immediately recoils at the assault of color against his eyes.

The first page is an enlarged photo of —Damian’s jaw nearly unhinges at the recognition— Richard. Yes, that is the idiot’s smile set behind one of the most hideous haircuts Damian has had the misfortune to see. It’s long in the back, short in the front, and standing straight up on the top. His shirt is a violent shade of violet that hangs half open over his chest and clashes in a headache inducing way with the neon green pants he is wearing. Tight pants that just might be actual spandex. Damian’s not entirely sure as he’s trying his best not to stare, because it’s obvious Richard is not wearing anything under them.

Damian feels a twinge of sympathetic embarrassment for his older brother. One that he crushes ruthlessly as he removes the picture. Richard is an idiot and Damian has no problem exploiting that weakness when it suits him. The pure blackmail and humiliation potential of owning this picture is far to great to pass up on. Writing, dark and new looking, on the back catches his attention.

'He wore this willingly believe it or not. Thank you for your help the other day, Damian. You may do with this what ever you wish.'

He frowns. Dismayed that Drake had known what Damian would do, but he looses that feeling fast when he flips the terrible picture back around. He smiles as he leaves Drake’s room. Planning the best uses for his newest possession.


	2. Cuppa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the family takes Tim’s coffee supply away and he gets his own revenge.

It starts out as a bad day when Tim realizes he is out of coffee. His container is empty and even the emergency bag he keeps under the bathroom sink is gone. Tim stares at his coffee pot in outrage for far too many minutes before his brain can sort it out. It’s Dick or maybe even Jason. They’re the only two who would use his apartment and not be considerate enough to warn him when they use the last of his coffee up.

Tim vows revenge. Bloody and painful revenge as he leaves for work. His morning routine is so precisely calculated that Tim doesn’t even have the time to stop at a coffee shop for a cup without being late. Something that Tam has worked hard to put the fear of god into him about. To the point where Tim will drag his still bleeding body into the office just to avoid it.

He makes it in with enough seconds to spare to grab a substandard cup from the lobby’s coffee pot. It’s burnt tasting and far too late to stave off his caffeine headache. Dick and Jason will pay dearly for it.

~

His headache hasn’t subsided by the time he makes his way to the employee lounge and its food carts for a brief lunch. He stares at the inexpensive coffee cart that usually makes a pretty good mocha in dumbfounded surprise. “Tea?”

Manuela shrugs. Blasé like a person only gets when dealing with a very specific side of Bruce’s public mask. “Your little brother insisted,” she says. Her accent thickening as she talks about Damian, whom the woman absolutely adores for some inexplicable reason Tim’s never been able to understand. “He said he had a point to prove and would cover any losses. There really hasn’t been much profit loss though. Everyone seems to like it.”

This isn’t a single event, Tim realizes as he backs away. A burning anger stoking slowly to life. This is a concerted attack from multiple people and all aimed at him. His brothers are going to _pay_ for this.

~

Bruce is going to pay for it too.

Tim nearly laughs as he stares at the bag of coffee he’s been pouring into the pot all day. The standard brand WE provides to its employees that Tim’s avoided as much as humanly possible until that day. When his meetings have been too close for him to run to Starbucks and every intern he’s sent has been swallowed alive by the building. Never to be seen again. And, now, _this_.

Decaffeinated. The bag proudly displays in the smallest letters possible.

Tim’s head throbs as he drops the bag and his head to the counter. They're going to pay. All of them. Every last member of his sadistic family.

~

Alfred greets Tim’s arrival at the manor with a perfectly fixed cup of coffee. Tim sighs as he drains it. Feeling a euphoric rush as the blessed liquid rushes through his system. “You may live,” he intones and ignores the amused cast of Alfred’s face as he leaves the kitchen. Tim’s got a revenge mission to enact and not a lot of time to pull it off.

~

Damian is livid. The boy is almost purple as he enters the kitchen where Tim is communing with the cheap coffee pot they all use. The elegant presses behind it reserved for Alfred’s use only. “Drake! What have you done to my bed?”

Tim’s stuffed the entire thing with crackers and salt. Which normally would have earned him Alfred’s ire but Tim had already ordered a replacement mattress and sheets. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why? Something wrong?”

Damian growls and Tim can see crumbs of crackers in his hair. Something gritty that might be salt in the crease of his neck where it has to itch like crazy. Tim smiles blandly and takes a sip of coffee.

Dick wanders out of the pantry before Damian can let loose with a tirade. He looks wounded and sad as he wraps Tim up in a hug. His voice wheedling and contrite as he looks for pity. “I’m sorry, little brother.”

Tim smiles and pats Dick on the back. Amused all over again at the older man’s dependence on crunchy cereal and still not feeling the least bit merciful. “I still have no idea what you’re going on about Dick.”

His phone goes off again. Buzzing across the counter in an angry dance that probably perfectly reflects the increasingly profane messages Jason’s leaving him. Something about blanks and Nerf toys which Tim also knows nothing about.

Tim drinks his coffee and smiles at his brothers. Wondering how Bruce is handling the all day long string of press statements about charities that Tam is in charge of making the man sit through.


	3. Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aw, the prompt was for Tim, Damian, and JAY getting lost on an island. I don’t know why I transposed Dick instead of Jay. Oh well, guess that means I gotta write another one because Jay instead of Dick makes all the difference.

"There are no signs of any technological or biological threat at all," Tim says. Flat and emotionless as he comes across Damian on a pristine beach of the small island they’re on.

"Neither," Damian says with a scowl threatening to break bones, "are there any signs of human habitation beyond the obvious one."

The obvious sign is a quaint little hut with two rooms and a kitchen area that’s been recently stocked if the smells coming from the area are to be believed. Tim feels his lips thin as he presses them together tightly in irritation. Dick hadn’t even tried to keep up his deception once the three of them had been dropped off, but thoroughness and a fine sense of paranoia required Tim and Damian to check for themselves.

"This is not the urgent mission Grayson briefed us on," Damian fairly spits. Arms crossed over his chest and his boots caked in sand that had to be irritating him even more.

"No," Tim agrees. It’s worse than that. He turns to face the building that’s supposed to house the three of them for however long this thing was to last. Damian shifts in response to the way Tim’s expression goes grim and deadly serious. "This is a vacation."

Damian looks at him. Face incredulous and outraged before he spins. Cape flaring out just enough to be truly dramatic as he stomp/slides his way inward. His rage filled voice launching seagulls and small creatures from the forested area around them. “Grayson!”

Tim follows. Trying not to twist his ankle in the loose sand because his suit is designed for cities not beaches. Damian can have the first hit at Dick for this little prank, and Tim will enjoy every second of it. And then he will wait. Bide his time until Dick’s guard inevitably goes down before striking.

A _vacation_. Really, what was Dick thinking?


	4. Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written while loopy after getting a request for Tim taking 4 days to get outta coffin.

The ground shifts imperceptibly. Shivering as a bulge slowly pushes upward. Specks of dirt rolling down the mound as a crack splits the earth. Clods of it fall away as pale fingers push through the earth. Stretching far and spreading in the free air.

Dirt explodes out as an arm and a head follow. A guttural moan ripping through the air as cloudy blue eyes stare out from dirt encrusted bangs. Lax flesh turning black and rotten from where it hangs in strips on the face of something that used to be a man

It pulls great handfuls of dirt and grass up as it wriggles slowly out of the hole. Sightless eyes fixed on the blazing light of the city beyond the graveyard. Pulsating with life that pulls the corpse to it’s shambling feet.

Dirt collapses, partially filling the hole before a tombstone etched with the name Timothy Drake.


	5. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The corrected response for Jay, Tim, and Damian being lost.

"I said turn right," Tim says full of pissiness and self-righteous anger as he stomps after Jason.

"Bullshit!" Jason snaps and turns on the young man. Fists balled and waiting for that one last smart ass remark that the fucker can never hold back from. "You said left and I fucking listened so don't even try blaming this shit on me!"

Tim's eyes narrow behind the mask. Something Jason can see in how his lips thin and nearly disappear. "You're remembering things wrong. As usual. The coast was _clearly_ to the right but you wanted to cut through the forest because you were," Tim's voice went high and whiny, "'fucking tired of being wet.'"

Oh it was fucking on! Jason lunged for the asshole. "You mouthy little-"

Tim goes limp and rolls with the tackle. Using Jason's own momentum to get on top. Avoiding Jason's first punch in exchange for a kick that probably hurt him as much as it hurt Jason. His second punch lands right in the joint of armor under the ribs and Tim spits out a curse as he rolls off to put some distance between them. Jason gets his feet under him and assesses the asshole's defense. Looking for the spot to put his fist.

"Enough!" Damian, the little shit, plants himself squarely between them. The sword Jason's _sure_ Dick had confiscated before the mission drawn and shining in the diffuse light. " _Both_ of you idiots are at fault for this catastrophe, and I will have both your heads if you do not cease this fight!"

Jason growls at the demonic brat and gets the fucking sword leveled at his face. The kid is nothing, he could take him easy but it's not worth it. Tim's already on his feet. Adjusting the fall of his cape and pretending like nothing's happened. Like a fucking cat.

"We'll continue the way we're going," Tim states calmly. "With how far we've already gone we're bound to reach something soon."

" _Something_ ," Jason spits as he brushes some dirt off his jacket. Glaring at Tim over the kid's head. "Just remember later, this one's on you too."

Tim sets off without a word and Jason follows. Damian bringing up the rear with a mutter, "They call _me_ the child?"


	6. Shop Smart, Shop S-Mart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Tim needing an art elective and only being able to choose choir or theater. The family finds out and enjoy the hell outta themselves. My knowledge of theater is limited, and, despite my best intentions, I have yet to see the musical used as a foil here. I'd also like to think that opening night is the first and last time Tim has to play it because someone on the school board figures out exactly what they approved and shuts it right down.

Tim's not sure about a lot of things at this point in his life, a mere two months from graduating out of high school. Mundane things because Tim's already got the big things figured out. 

He's not sure why he needs one more art elective course, or why that course had come down to a choice between choir and theater. He doesn't know why after rejecting choir --because he _can't_ sing, at all-- he was picked to be the lead role in a musical. Why he was taken away from the tech job he was doing perfectly well to begin with. It's not like Tim _doesn't_ have to fix the equipment every day anyway, because the idiot teenage boys who needed one more class don't know the meaning of the phrase, "Touch that again and I will be forced to break your fingers."

He doesn't understand what had possessed him to tell _Dick_ of all people about his plight, or why he's been so surprised at the family's enthusiastic response to it. Tim's not sure of a lot of things but the one that tops his mind as Donny Miles gets over enthusiastic with the powder puff is how _anyone_ could have signed off on letting a bunch of high school kids perform Evil Dead the Musical. Tim would suspect family interference if it weren't for the fact that it was approved before Tim chose the class.

"Break a leg!" Donny is a cheerful sort and is the only cast member not currently sweating bullets. Tim admires that even as his never dimming grin annoys him.

"In multiple places," Jason snickers and that's another thing Tim's not sure about. How the hell _he_ got into the classroom they're using for a dressing room. It's roped off and one of the teacher's assistants has been dead set on not letting anyone not a student beyond a certain point. "Make up for a dork like you landing such a kickass role."

"I didn't even want it," Tim protests as he goes out into the hall. The clothes he's wearing are plain and until Ash looses his hand Tim won't need to go back to wardrobe. He's lucky that way. Some of the veteran theater kids had told horror stories about five second changes between every scene. Jason sidesteps a frazzled looking stagehand shouting something about the lights that makes Tim twitch. "What are you doing back here anyway? I thought you said you wanted front row seats to the show."

To Tim's humiliation, had been Jason's exact words. "I think Alfred's the only one who didn't bring a camera tonight. I don't need to sit with the rest of them now. So I thought I'd get a bird's eye view."

"You can't-" Tim starts to protest when Ms. Smythe walks away from her spot eying the barricade of chairs across the hallway. She gives Jason a shy, besotted smile that Jason returns with his very best well behaved grin. "Jason!"

"What?" Jason gives him a shit eating grin because he knows damn well how badly he's ruining Tim's life.

"I swear if I don't pass this stupid class because of you," Tim let's the threat trail off because he's not sure what he'll do to Jason. He just knows it will be epic if he has to take a summer class just to get out of high school.

"Whatever, baby bird," Jason sneers as he shoves Tim toward the stage door. "Go break your face for the cameras. I'll be in the ceiling throwing shit at you."

Jason disappears as Tim's caught by one of the harried assistants who doesn't look like she's had any sleep all week. Tim stumbles as he's almost thrown in place. "Three minutes!"

Tim peers through a crack in the stiff curtains and feels dread pool in his stomach. The whole family is there right in the front row. It looks like Bruce leveraged _Babs_ to get there. Tim steps back as people shuffle frantically around him. There are also, true to Jason's words, a lot of cameras out there.

Something bounces off his head. Tim gets a glance at a round, orange thing just before the curtains rattle and Tim has to look bored. If he finds out Jason's wasting Skittles on his petty fun Tim will start planning his revenge early.


	7. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getcha tissues out. Request for Damian finding out Dick's been dead for months after he comes back to life.

Damian is stricken dumb. He has not said a word since the conversation with Drake over the phone. The one that he _should_ have had with his father long before the other boy had convinced Pennyworth to hand the phone over. He does not remember much of the conversation following Drake's emotionless recital of facts Damian had been ignorant of even a week after waking in his bed. Father holding his hands and _smiling_ at him in a way he never had before.

Drake describes several months of arguments, fights, and estrangements following his death. The growing rift between Father and the rest of their small family. The increasingly desperate lengths Father had gone to in order to bring Damian back. The failed attempts to reel him back in and reconnect. Damian's resurrection and it's almost inevitable price.

The signs are there, now that Damian knows to look for them.

Pennyworth is attentive but grieving. His gaze hard and unforgiving when they turn to Father. The bright look in Father's eyes less to do with being happy to have his son with him and more to do with grief. The way the manor is maddeningly silent. The way the codes for the Cave have changed, and nothing Damian does gets him access to any weapons or gear. Not even the computer working for him. The way Father always shows up within seconds of Damian leaving his rooms. Just to stand there, in the darkest part of the room and _watch_ him with a look that is all about being torn.

Damian hangs up the phone and the way Pennyworth does not look at him is all the confirmation he needs. "I have to-" the words stick in his throat and Damian swallows hard. His eyes burn and he blinks rapidly.

"I will bring the car around," Pennyworth says in a tone that carries out into the hall which has grown darker since Damian picked up the phone. There is no answer or rebuttal and the man leaves. Damian stands where he is. Still and swallowing past the lump that his stuck words have made in his throat until he hears the gentle purr of an engine outside.

He does not look back as he gets into the car.

The trip passes in a blur, and Damian feels a little voice that has been denying Drake's words crumble as they pull into the cemetery. Near the plot of land that has more Wayne's in it than any other part of Gotham. Damian does not need directions to go to a corner of it, just far enough away to not be confused with a Wayne stone, where three stones stand tall. Grayson had taken Damian there once before when there were only two.

The newest stone is bright. Untouched by weather and age, and not very fitting for the man who is buried under it. Damian stares at the stone and the slight mound before it. Flowers, pictures, and a ragged looking teddy bear are grouped at the base of the stone. Well tended for all that they have likely been there for a few weeks.

A hand touches his shoulder. Gentle but firm as Pennyworth makes his presence known. Bringing Damian back to himself enough to feel the wetness rolling down his cheeks, the tightness of his chest, and the raw feeling in his throat as he mourns his fallen brother.

Damian turns his head into the older man's side and lets his fingers steady him as he shakes but does not make a single sound.


	8. No Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Jason having an asthma attack for the first time since he was a child.

It’s the smoke that triggers it. Something in the burning building making it toxic to his lungs despite the filters in his mask. Jason starts coughing almost immediately and doesn’t stop even as he works to get out of the death trap.

His lungs spasm as Jason breaks out a window and tries to get a bead on a good spot to attach the grapple. Firing blindly when he can’t see through the rising panic as his chest seems to constrict. Weight pressing down hard on his lungs preventing him from breathing the tainted air.

Jason jumps before he’s even had the chance to see the line set. It doesn’t _matter_ if he smears himself across the street below. He has to get out of the building. He has to-

Jason grunts as he hits the closest roof. Going too fast and too low. He rolls across it and the jolt of impact loosens something just enough to get a trickle of air in. Just a little as he paws the helmet off. The fire burning across his right leg not as important as the wheezing he can _hear_ and _feel_ as he desperately gasps.

Years of experience, of not being able to afford the medicine or inhalers to prevent this makes Jason ruthlessly repress the coughing and hacking before he can puke. Choking a little from the bile that tries to rise up anyway. Forcing himself to breathe in small, slow breaths of air. Mostly untainted now as he counts slowly. His gloved fingers digging into the roof as he uncurls himself as much as he can stand.

His chest feels so tight and the air he’s getting in now isn’t enough for the mad dash he did getting out. Spots roll across his tightly closed eyes and Jason’s holding onto the roof now for steadiness. For an anchor against the wave of dizziness. A reminder to just keep breathing.

Slow and steady. No matter how bad it gets.

The constriction eases slowly and the panic ebbs as he gets more air in. Not letting himself gulp it down the way he wants. He waits until the spots clear to cough. A body wracking series of hacking that brings snot up his throat for him to spit out. That helps too.

Firefighters are already on site by the time Jason feels ready to move. Taking the most direct route to his nearest bolt hole. He’s done for the night. The phantom weight from when he was a kid wiping him out even more thoroughly than he remembers.


	9. Alvin Drake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Tim having a twin that no one else knew about. Yeah, I don't know how this would work out logistically, but I think Tim'd be a lot happier this way. Maybe.

Tim didn’t mean for this to go on for so long. Didn’t mean for it to even become the _thing_ it’s become, but he can’t take complete blame for the slack jawed looks he’s getting.

The looks they’re _both_ getting.

"Really?" Alvin Drake drawls out as he adjusts the tie of his suit. Slightly more expensive than his normal work clothes because he's meeting very important people as Timothy Drake-Wayne and needs to make an impression. "It’s not like there aren’t records about us both out there. I went to the same schools you know?"

Which is actually a good point, because Bruce dealt with CPS when their dad died. Tim would have thought _someone_ would have mentioned the other Drake boy to him then. Then again --thanks to some _massive_ mismanagement of epic proportions they only discovered when they were twelve-- Al has always been a kind of ghost in the system. Ironic because he’s the one who most wanted a normal life.

"You guys didn’t really think I got all that work done on my own did you?" Tim asks from the couch he was passed out on before Dick had barged in with Damian and Jason —why? Tim doesn’t know— as Al was getting ready for work. "I’d be dead if I had to handle WE on top of my case load."

Dick looks like he’s having a seizure as he looks between them both. His face morphing through emotions too fast to comprehend. “I don’t understand.”

"Look," Al rolls his eyes and grabs his suitcase. "I have meetings to attend and if I’m late Tam will skin me alive," he turns at the door and gives Tim a _look_ vaguely reminiscent of their mother. The look he’s spent years practicing in preparations for taking over whatever poor company would hire him. "Tim can explain everything. He’s the one you lot deal with most often."

Tim grimaces as Al leaves. Maybe it’s time to give some serious thought into getting Al officially recognized as existing. Though his brother actually likes having the ability to appear in two places at once on occasion, and just might smother Tim for the right to the Timothy Drake-Wayne —and all it’s casual influence— name.

"Uh," Tim grins weakly as three pairs of eyes turn on him. At a loss on where to start.

"Are you cloning yourself, Drake?" Damian asks with interest that Tim doesn’t like at all. It’s the morbid curiosity of a child learning an animal has no brain and thus can’t feel pain.

Tim groans and sits up to start setting the record straight. Just in case the demon spawn decides to launch an attack or something.


	10. Lazy Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for the Outlaws having a lazy day.

Roy was not moving. Ever.

He’d obtained to sort of couch nirvana that only stoners and cats could get to easily. His body was perfectly splayed out on and supported by the cushions. The right parts sinking into the padding while others were firmly propped up. The sun slanted across his body in a pleasant heat. Warming the join between flesh and metal on his arm but avoiding his eyes.

Music drifted into the room with a nice breeze that kept him from overheating. Low enough to lull him into a kind of trance. Kori’s hair tickled across his face as she shifted in her catlike sprawl across the top of the couch. The scent of her mingling in his nose with the coconut shampoo one of them had bought a week back.

"I’m never moving," Jason’s voice comes from the floor. Groggy and every bit as lazy sounding as Roy feels. "I think I love bean bag chairs."

Roy would look or give the man some firm of acknowledgment but that would involve moving and possibly losing his perfect sprawl. He grunts instead. Kori’s fingers drifting through his hair in a vague petting motion.

They don’t speak again for a good long while.


	11. Red Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Tim being the Robin who dies, possibly becoming Red Hood. So clearly an AU here.

Tim doesn’t blame Bruce. It was Tim’s own naive belief that had led him to chase after his parents, that had led him to that warehouse with their still cooling bodies strung up, that had led to him bleeding on the floor with the Joker laughing above him. Laughing and laughing. Always laughing.

No, Tim can’t blame Bruce for his own mistakes, but he can blame him for his. For the one mistake that he makes. Over and over again. Letting a complete psychopath like the Joker live.

Sure, Tim can see the benefit in the no kill policy Bruce clings to. There are some criminals that deserve a second chance, who can turn their lives around. Make amends and become better people. The Joker is not one of them. Not by a long shot.

Joker has no conscience. Has no desire outside of the chaos and death he leaves behind him. There’s no redeeming him, no changing him. Years and so many deaths have shown that to be a misplaced hope. Keeping him around only leads to more deaths, more innocents dying. Joker's killed forty-nine people since Tim was buried. That's not counting the many people whose bodies haven't --and probably never will-- been found yet.

"How many people died because you're too _proud_?" Tim asks as he faces off with Batman across the roof. The gun hard and warm in his hand as he holds up the bound and still body of Joker. "Because you're stuck in a childish game where you'd rather he killed people than lose to him?"

Bruce is silent. His face set as he stares Tim down through the full face mask. He's given up, Tim can tell, on getting Tim to listen. He's already calculated his plans and is ready to put one of them in motion. Tim can think of twelve separate actions he can take, and each one has countless variations. Countering each is impossible. So Tim has carefully planned things out so that he doesn't have to.

"Don't bother," Tim holsters the gun and shoves the Joker towards Batman. The body boneless and falling to the ground with a slick thump that makes the man go very still. "I've already done what you'll never be strong enough to do."

Bruce takes five seconds to confirm the implication as Tim turns and runs. It's enough to loose the black shadow when Batman gives chase after seeing the two bloody bullet holes where insane green eyes used to be. Tim's plan has succeeded, and he now has the answer he's always hoped he wouldn't have. Bruce isn't enough for Gotham anymore, _Batman_ isn't enough.

Tim's already running through plans as he watches Batman fly past the shadows he's in. His knowledge of the criminals and organizations of Gotham giving him a good idea of where to start. Showing him where Red Hood will fit right in the hole that Batman has left in the city.


	12. Little White Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Tim getting really sick and the family's reaction to finding out he has no spleen.

Dick is angry. No. He's _furious_. 

Bruce closes the folder --carefully hidden in a mundane sub directory filled with patrol timings-- and very precisely arranges the paperwork he'd brought back from the hospital. Results of tests that have just been verified in Tim's own bare-bones style of reporting. 

"It's not lying if the report is just 'lost' in the system," Dick laughs and there's not much humor in it. It's depressingly easy to follow Tim's logic in not saying anything about losing an _organ_ until he's nearly dead. 

Except not even then. Tim's in the hospital being pumped with fluids and antibiotics and he'd never said a word. It was a lucky _guess_ by a doctor that saved his life. "He doesn't have a spleen, Bruce," Dick snarls before falling onto a chair that hadn't been there moments before. Alfred's eyes bore a little against the side of his head. Reproachful for the outburst and calming. Just a little. "Bruce. He lost his spleen to Ra's. When I ab-"

"Dick!" Bruce is frowning now. Severe and forbidding as he looms over him. One hand on Dick's shoulder. "Don't."

Dick can't help it though. Can't help but think and wonder if-

"There's only room for one brooding bat in this world, or so I've been repeatedly informed," there's a smile on Bruce's face. Wry and worried as he repeats a garbled version of Dick's own words back at him. 

Dick smiles. Wan and forced before he goes serious again. His worries and self-recriminations slipping away for the moment. "We need to get him to talk. Find out what else he's hiding."

Because it's Tim and if he's got one secret he's got a dozen. 

"Will we be needing rope or the usual restraints then?" Alfred asks. And it draws a real laugh from Dick even though he knows the man is being completely serious.


	13. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing goes better with turkey and stuffing than some good old fashioned family fights!

"I don’t understand," Damian says and Tim is honestly shocked that the boy isn’t whining. It shows a level of restraint that Tim is quite frankly envious of at the moment as they follow Dick into the formal dinning room. The one that is so rarely used despite Alfred's best efforts. " _Why_ must we celebrate the eradication of an indigenous people with the ritual fattening and slaughtering of an animal?"

There’s a turkey roaming the estate. Fat and content. Not knowing how very close to being killed and stuffed it came before Damian figured out why the press was making such a fuss over a stupid bird. Tim gives it until Christmas before Alfred finds a suitable enough home for it well away from the manor. The cow at least has been providing the older man with a fresh supply of milk. The turkey has only made a mess of one of the side patios and left far too many droppings to be believed.

"It's tradition," Dick says with the kind of glee that really isn't faked. Their older brother really loves tormenting them all with his special brand of sadism. 'Family' bonding times and events like Thanksgiving are right up his alley. "Besides it's all about family now days."

Damian's head snaps to the side and Tim shakes his head sharply at the boy's look. "Don't push it," Tim mouths the warning and --wonder of wonders-- Damian actually heeds him and shuts his mouth.

It's a slow process, but the boy _can_ learn.

It's easier to let Dick have his way when the holidays come around. To grin and laugh and draw his family around him like a blanket. Despite what a _horrible_ and _bad_ idea it is to get them all together in close quarters like this with no immediate crime to distract themselves with. 

Case in point. When they enter the room Jason looks to be one word --wrong or right-- away from launching over the expertly laid out table with his butter knife. There is a suspicious lack of any sharpened implements on the table, and Tim feels relieved that Alfred is taking measures to prevent last year's pre-dinner incident.

Stephanie, by contrast, looks pleased and downright _smug_ as she studiously ignores Jason's glare. It's a sadly effective tactic to rile the older man up, and a move that Tim labels as plain stupid on Steph's account. The only reason she's pulling it off now is Cass' presence beside her. Calm and silent despite the faint frown line creasing her forehead.

"You made it!" Dick throws himself into the tense atmosphere with abandon. 

Flinging his arms around both women, and a smile at Jason. His words could be for any or all three of them. It doesn't really matter. He steals the seat next to Cass and Tim reluctantly moves around to the other side of the table. Damian darts around him. Stealing the seat across from Dick and Tim grits his teeth as he slips into the seat beside an obviously on edge Jason.

It's not his favorite place in the world but it seems to be one he's finding himself in more and more often. Why everyone has decided the one person in the world Jason has tried his hardest to _kill_ should always be within his arms reach is beyond Tim. He'd suspect more sadism except there's a distinct lack of glee when it happens. He's starting to theorize that attempts on Tim's life are simply seen as normal now. Which is worryingly logical considering how many people sitting at the table have honestly tried to kill him at one point or another.

Damian sulks in his seat. Sparing a stiff nod to Cass that she returns with a smile. She's already far more relaxed as she watches them all. There's a gleam to her eyes when she looks at Tim that matches Dick's. Tim's known her long enough to know she's picking up every thought Tim's having and laughing at him. Dick has already found a soft spot in Steph's defenses. Asking about her mother and ignoring the way her answers are stiff and clipped as she spends a _family_ holiday not with her own mom. Jason's spinning a fork over his knuckles like a knife and side eying Tim. Taking in the light armor that Tim made sure to wear under his sweater and flexing his other hand.

They're off to a fine start already, and there aren't even any bread rolls on the table yet. The only thing that could make this worse is-

As if on cue, Bruce comes in. Eyes sweeping them all up in a matter of seconds before he makes his way to the head of the table. Tim waits through the silence and the soft greetings of Cass and the louder greeting of Damian. Alfred continues to not come in after Bruce with platters of food large enough to distract everyone. Which is usually a timed thing the older man works out to ensure the awkward family situation doesn't happen too often.

Bruce is early for whatever reason. Tim turns --noticing the way the fork has stopped spinning in Jason's hand, and the way Steph is now out and out _glaring_ \-- to find Bruce staring straight at him. The frown is seen more in his eyes and Tim already knows what's coming. What's been coming for a few weeks now, but he has managed to put off with cases and leads when they're working.

The tradeoff had been valid. Red Robin had let a petty criminal go and snagged some bigger fish with the info that deal had gotten him. Knowing the whole time that Batman wouldn't have approved of the choices he made, and doing it anyway.

Bruce slowly turns that look onto each of them in turn. Tim doesn't know exactly what anyone else might have done, but he can guess. Steph's glare turns heated and she doesn't look away. Jason bares his teeth in a snarl and his knuckles go white on the fork. Damian flushes even as his face turns stubborn. Cass is completely passive, nothing showing on her face or in her actions. Dick's grin takes on a knife's edge that's all combative.

Tim begins to give serious consideration to throwing everything he has in with Babs. Sure, he'd have to deal with her Birds, but at least she's far enough away from Gotham most days to not have to worry about being drawn into things like this.

Bruce takes a deliberate breath and Tim braces himself, because Alfred is nowhere in sight to stop the coming family brawl.


	14. Perception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a mess of an epic that I'm trying to fit into one little fic because I'm not writing the whole thing out. I still got a few other series to end before I do that. Just random musing about a bunch of different fics that take on this theme.

There's no laugh, no words. Just a keening moan that raises the hair on Tim's arms and nearly stops his heart.

Tim follows the tug on his arm. Ripping his eyes away from the sight that's had him frozen. Staring like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, and with twice the chances of dying. He stumbles after. Feeling thin fingers lace through his hand as Harley takes off once they're out in the hallway. Running full tilt and forcing Tim to keep up.

"Let's go, let's go," she starts to hiss once they're around the first corner. Low enough not to echo or carry. A constant chant that gets louder as they get further and further away from the storage unit. "Hurry!"

Tim's tripping over nothing in his sneakers, and she's almost skipping along in boots with heels. Tim's mind latches onto that. Musing about how he can barely walk in one inch heels and all the women he knows get deadlier with every inch they wear. It's not an innate skill. Steph had never had it until she started working more closely with Babs, and he'd spent enough time listening to her moan and complain to know it's not an easily gained skill.

"Come on!" Harley spins and _hauls_ on his arm. Nearly launching him out the door into the parking lot. The door shuts behind them with a slam and Tim skids to a stop a few feet away. He's breathing hard, so is Harley, even though he knows they're both used to far more excursion. She's still holding onto his hand, and she's squeezing now. "It's ok. It's alright now."

Tim rips his eyes away from the door to look at her. Harley doesn't look like Harley.

Her hair is pinned up in a messy ponytail, and her usual makeup is absent. She's wearing wrinkled jeans that probably spent a few days crumbled on the floor, and a bright shirt that could've come out of any normal person's closet under a hoodie that he knows Steph has a replica of. She's not armed either.

"Hey, come on. Breath kiddo," Harley looks tired and concerned as she shifts her grip to hold him by the shoulders. Backing him up until he's down on the ground. Sitting on a curb as she crouches before him, rocking him slightly. Words and actions soothing. "It's-" her smile wobbles a little before going back to full wattage, "It's going to be alright."

"How?" Tim asks and notices that Harley isn't shaking him. She's pressing down on his shoulders and it's _Tim_ that is shaking. "How is it going to be alright?"

"Oh, kid," Harley reaches up to tuck a bit of hair behind his right ear. He's lost the hair tie he'd been wearing some time in their run. "It's gonna be alright because nothing's really changed, right?"

"Nothing?" Tim laughs. Short and sharp. He's close to being hysterical, a detached voice points out. "Everything's changed!"

"No it hasn't," steel enters Harley's voice and Tim feels her grip for the first time. Tight and verging on painful. " _Nothing_ has changed except your perception." Harley pauses and her eyes flicker as she looks straight at him. Searching for something. "Do you understand?"

Tim does. He does understand in a far off feeling part of his mind. He'll be analyzing this the second he gets over the shock of it. Get's over the fact that- "He's my _father_."

Tim's heard his voice get that low and broken before. Only a few times in his life. He's honestly surprised to hear it again. He'd thought it wasn't possible to be hurt that much ever again.

"No, he's not," Harley's smile is instantly sad and Tim wants to scream. Because in that second, with that smile, she looks like his mom. She looks like Janet Drake when it was just the two of them and she'd shed her suits and jewelry. Her makeup a smear on a washcloth. "He was never your father, kid. That man, that man died a long time ago. And as far as he's concerned? You died the same day with you mom, and as soon as he's done in there," the storage building is silent and still. Worryingly so for how much tension had filled it before they ran. "As soon as he's done. You're going to be dead again. Because, because that hurts less, and," Harley bites her lips. 

She's trying hard to summarize everything she knows about the Joker. Compact it down into words that normal people might understand. It's an exercise in futility. The Joker can't be explained with logic or sanity. It takes a certain degree of insanity to even try to comprehend him. Tim knows because he's studied the Joker, and things he didn't understand before have only gotten clearer as Tim's own perception of reality slipped a bit. Changed.

"Let it blow over," Harley's back on track. Ignoring the explanation she'd started. "Let the greedy bastards die out, and the rumors fade. They'll forget it soon as he offs a few of them, and he'll forget it soon as they stop talking about it," she combs her fingers through his hair. Absently. "You'll be safe then. I promise."

The hysteria is ebbing into numbness, and his more logical side is kicking into gear in the void. Taking in everything he knows and thinking it through. All the things he's wondered but never pressed. All the things he saw but didn't pursue, because it hadn't mattered at the time.

He's already calculating dates. Matching them up to the two marriage certificates he'd once seen in his mom's paperwork. The death certificate folded up around a picture of a smiling young couple in worn looking clothes that were obviously their best. A bunch of wildflowers in the hand of a young woman that Tim had been surprised to recognize as his mom. The death certificate was standard for Gotham, and told a story that Tim hadn't wanted to know. Murdered, no body recovered. His mom's first husband had been dumped in the harbor. Both things had been placed in an empty urn he'd found clearing out the townhouse after his dad's murder. He'd buried it on the other side of her grave. At a loss as to what else to do with it.

The dates had tickled his brain even then, but Tim had ignored it.

He'd shifted through the box of photos with the same sense of loss. Unsure what to do with pictures of a giggly and bright young woman he'd never really known. Who smiled at the camera and seemed happy in an apartment that was obviously in one of the worse parts of Gotham. Glowing at the camera in the arms of a tall, thin man who looked every bit as happy as she was. A year. They'd been married a year before he died, and in less time than that she was married to Tim's dad. 

There are no pictures of Janet Drake smiling or laughing. No pictures of her making silly faces or looking as young as Tim knows she was once upon a time. Even the wedding pictures are muted when compared to the ones Tim had boxed up and put back in the storage locker his dad had rented to store all of her things. 

And that should have been all the evidence Tim needed. He's been doing this long enough to put the fact together, but he hadn't wanted to. Not so soon after burying his dad.

No, it'd taken a DNA hit on an unknown blood sample at a seemingly insignificant turf war to bring it all up. A tussle that ended with one man dead, and was only notable in that Tim and Damian had been front and center when it broke out. In civilian clothes dropping the Wilkes kid off after one of Dick's many attempts to normalize Damian with a trip to the zoo. 

An everyday occurrence. At least until word got out that a hit on one of the blood stains on the dead man had a partial match in CODIS. A fifty percent match, a parent. The Joker

Corruption in the department assured the info was leaked before the GCPD could even think about suppressing it. A lab tech had seen the way the wind was blowing and destroyed it all. The samples, the reports, everything. A frustrating move that proved fortuitous when the city exploded into a manhunt for the Joker's kid.

Tim kind of wants to laugh at how many of them had spun themselves in circles over that. How many leads he'd run down with Batman that led to nothing. How many times he was grilled over who else could have been there. Who else could be the target of a mob that was equal parts greed and blind anger with a depressingly few people looking to protect. They'd tracked them down. Every last one that Tim and Damian could remember, and not once did it occur to any of them that Tim was there too.

Well, everyone except the Joker, and Tim's got a pile of ashes for an apartment to prove that now.

Harley's got him wrapped up in a half hug. She's not talking, and Tim's not shaking any more. He's still numb but the facts are slotting into place. Into easily little packages he can take out and deal with later. 

The night grows even more quiet and still in a way that Tim knows. He feels it before Harley does. She goes stiff before relaxing. Rubs his shoulder one last time before pulling away. "It'll be alright, cupcake," Harley says, and she sounds like she really believes it. "You just wait and see. Okay?"

Harley looks at him. Intent and waiting until Tim nods and repeats, "Okay."

"Good," she stands up then and looks into the shadows behind Tim. "Don't call the cops. He's really bad off right now. It won't end well," there's nothing gentle or cautious in her as she faces Batman down. She's not armed, she's not wearing her makeup, or her normal clothes. She looks more like the Harley Quinn he's used to dealing with than the woman who's been holding him tight as he tried not to break down. "Just do your thing. Take the kid and get him somewhere safe."

It's an out and out order that Harley backs up with a fierce glare. The one she gets just before the world gets set on fire. It spells a world of pain and danger for anyone stupid enough to cross her. It melts right off her face in a flash as she turns back to Tim. She gives him one more smile and then turns to march smartly back into the warehouse.

A minute passes after the door shuts behind her, before a hand lands on his shoulder. "Let's go home." 

He doesn't push or pull. Tim can feel Bruce crouched behind him. Patient and unmoving. Waiting for Tim to gather himself enough to stand before pulling him in close. It's not a hug. It's more protective than anything, supportive. Better than words. Though those are offered too once they're safely in the car.

"She's right," Tim closes his eyes and lets Bruce's voice wash over him. "Nothing important has changed. It's all perception."

Tim tires to take that in, but it's still too big. He's still too close to it to deal. He will eventually be able to and will appreciate it. Now just isn't that time. He pulls his legs up on the seat and leans back in the seat. Using the thrum of the engine to try and blank his mind. Just for a little bit.


	15. Mob Rule

There is nothing more terrifying than seeing a bunch of wealthy people with rifles and ridiculously tiny pistols tearing through someone's well manicured garden like it's a jungle, and their prey is just around the next tree. Tim wants to carpet bomb the whole area with sleeping gas. The slow acting kind so he can go down there and personally bitch slap each and every single one of them before confiscating the weapons and leaving them hogtied in the grass. Alas, he's woefully short on the necessary pellets and has to be conservative.

He sees the inevitable meeting coming when a group of three men who've been working themselves up with bluster barrel down a stretch of the hedge maze. At a speed that's going to have them meeting the two men who obviously have some sort of military training behind them as they quietly case it out. 

"Twenty on the marines," Jason says with undisguised glee. He's channeling Dick as he leans out dangerously far over the eaves of the manor. His grip on a dubiously sturdy weather vane the only thing keeping him from being dragged down by gravity. He's focused on the maze with an intensity that means he's probably recording it all through his helmet.

"Tt," Damian grumps from his crouch next to Tim. Disagreeing just to be contrary Tim suspects. "They have the training, yes, but they won't shoot blindly. Those idiots will get the first shots off."

"Doesn't mean they're going to hit shit," Jason tilts his head as the distance between the two groups narrows. "They're panicked, they're more likely to hit the moon. Or break their noses on the recoil. Fifty-fifty I say."

"This is why we need a basic common sense test to own a gun," Tim rolls his eyes when Jason snickers and Damian scoffs. This is what he deals with on a nightly basis. He raises the slingshot --so what if it's juvenile, it's still effective-- and nails the three men with sleep gas pellets right beneath their noses. They drop like puppets with their strings cut, and Tim holds his breath. None of the dubiously maintained weapons go off. "This is why vigilantism is best left for the professionals."

Tim waits for the two marines to round the corner and see the downed men before firing off two more pellets. They helpfully hold still so he doesn't have to lead too much with the projectiles.

"For once, I will agree with you," Damian says as he watches a loud man walk through a flower bed, yelling at nothing. A woman in high heels gibbering in fear almost literally attached to his back. He has a 9mm that shines too much to not be gold plated or encrusted with gems of some kind. He's holding it one handed and _sideways_.

Jason falls back onto the roof and makes a series of alarming noises that's probably him choking on his own spit as he laughs. " _These people!_ "

Tim aims for the woman first. She's got screamer written all over her and the rest of the hunting party are getting edgier as they find the people he's been picking off since the mob descended on the garden. No reason to set them off completely with a scream. The woman slumps suddenly and the man drops his gun before Tim nails him too. 

"This reminds me of those idiotic films Nightwing has been forcing me to watch," Damian says. Detached as an older man makes his way out into the field. So focused on looking through his sites he doesn't see the downed bodies on the ground. "The ones where the people split up and are slaughtered one by one."

"Hm," Tim has to wait for the man to turn before he can be sure to get over his overly stiff arms. "They are like lambs aren't they?"

"Tell me, _Clarice_ ," Jason rolls over regaining control of his voice long enough to do a passable Anthony Hopkins impression, "have the lambs stopped screaming?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it," the man makes a noise when he's hit. A sharp cry that echoes through the night, and Tim knows it's going to draw the others in. Which is probably a good thing now. Their numbers are thinned enough and Bruce has had enough time to escort the man this mob is hunting for to the police. It's about time to end their little distraction game. 

Tim lays out the rest of his pellets and waits.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of one sentence drabbles in response to prompts on Tumblr.

_avanalae asked: Tim ends up in a video game (thanks to Klarion)?_

The land is green and aggressively alive for as far as Tim can see from his perch, mean looking creatures patrolling the ground and air between him and his goal, Tim launches himself forward when he hears a scrape below him and barely avoids the snapping teeth of the plant monster that comes hurtling up the green pipe he was crouched on, it hisses once before dropping back down leaving Tim to confront a marching line of grotesque mushrooms with large eyes and fangs.

~

_kaitouhime1412 asked: Waking up in a weird/scary place in a weird/scary situation and staying overly calm about it._

Tim wakes up naked, tied to a rough stone altar that smells like blood, and staring up at a masked —-man? woman? human?-— chanting and holding a knife, “That was my favorite suit.”

~

_kaitouhime1412 asked: Now Imagine if Jason got changed into these puppies that think they are lap dogs but are really not._

"Get him off," Tim wails after he’s tried and failed —miserably failed— to shove the Great Dane mix off his legs, Jason regards him briefly before leaning down and adding another layer if dog spit to his face much to Dick’s loud amusement.

~

_ephemeraltea asked: Dick and being sick and awful about it. Jason was stuck taking care of him._

"If you weren’t such a sorry ass sight to look at, I’d smother you right now," Jason tells Dick’s stupid, unconscious ass after he finds the idiot passed out in the kitchen obviously trying to cook something himself.

~

_kaitouhime1412 asked: Jason finding a tiny kitten Tim waking up?_

There’s a terrifyingly tiny black kitten sleeping under the pile of clothes where Tim was just standing, and he watches as it stretches fluidly and yawns with its kitten sharp teeth glinting before familiar blue eyes blink open with no recognition or sign of intelligence at all.

~

_ephemeraltea asked: Tim and candy hoarding._

Tim hisses when Steph reaches for one of the snickers bars and she’s quick to hit him with the rolled up newspaper before he can snatch it away, “No, Tim, we’re never going to break you of this habit if you don’t learn to share!”


	17. Herding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for them all as cats and Bruce trying to herd the kittens until Clark makes him stop. I think this is more animal like than was intended, but, it's how it went.

It's difficult keeping an eye on them all.

Dick has a tendency to climb things that should not be climbed no matter how many times he falls. His black fur bristling at the insult of gravity before he jumps up to try it again. Babs, for all that she should be the easiest to watch, is never all that far behind him, a red fluff of fur stubbornly following. Climbing farther with her two functioning front legs than any of the other kittens can with all four. Too tenacious to allow herself to fall like Dick does.

Jason can never leave things be and routinely knocks things over to better explore them. He's the largest and uses his bulk to push containers around in a loud clatter so he can peer into them with suspicious green eyes.

Cass and Steph can be easy to watch when they want to be. Two darling little angels when they play together, but pure, hissing demons when they want to explore the dusty crack under the stove. Cass's sleek dark form following Steph's curly golden one as they try to explore further than Bruce would like. 

Kon romps around like he has a fly in his ear, and given his resemblance to Clark, Bruce isn't willing to rule that out as a possibility. He goes from trailing Cass and Steph on their explorations to trying to follow Dick on his climb up the curtains. 

Tim and Damian stick to Bruce the closest but are by far the most difficult to keep an eye on. They're both the smallest of the litter and the closest in color and form to Bruce. Alone they're perfect little kittens who listen and do everything he wants them to. Together-

Tim yowls, and Damian scampers away as Tim spins around teeth bared and ready to retaliate for the bite. They run around Bruce in a spiral that would be dizzying but he's, sadly, grown too used to it to be effected anymore. Damian's growling and Tim's spitting, and one of them is going to draw blood when they stop.

It's hard, keeping them all together and stopping them from killing each other. Or him.

Bruce gets up from his exhausted sprawl, ready to go for another round of herding up the litter, when a heavy weight drops onto his back. Bruce growls as Clark settles onto his back, and the other cat starts purring. A reassuring sound that doesn't distract Bruce from the fact that Tim and Damian are rolling around in a ball of fur and teeth, that Cass and Steph have disappeared, that Kon is looking too interested in the crack under the stove, that Jason's head butting a large pot, or that Babs is hanging onto the back of a chair and looking down at a ruffled looking Dick who's getting back up.

No, it doesn't distract him at all. What does distract him is the rough tongue that swipes up the fur around his flattened ears. The weight of Clark, the purring, and the grooming together doing more to relax Bruce from his constant vigilance than anything else has in a long while. Bruce's eyes slide shut even as a loud clatter drowns out the hissing yowls of his youngest two. It's hard watching them after all, and he does deserve a break.


	18. All of the Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for the subject of Tim accidentally beating Shiva to death and then bringing her back to life being brought up to Jason. Prompter wanted Jason's incredulous face at hearing Tim didn't let her stay dead, but the story bit took a turn for the darker as I started thinking more about Tim and killing. I've always believed he was one of the few of them that could look at killing with the clinical detachment needed to make it easy. There's quite a few times where Tim's seriously thought about doing it. It used to be a recurring thread in his early series that got pushes aside and forgotten I think.

"Putting aside the fact that you thought it was a _great_ idea to let yourself be trained by her in the first place," Jason holds his hands three inches apart and carefully pulls them up like he's holding that whole matter in his hands before throwing it over his shoulder. "You killed he, on _accident_ , and then instead of celebrating your bad ass victory you _brought her back to life_?"

"Yes," Tim says with a sigh for the third time. "I just told you that. Do I need to repeat it again?"

"Yes, because I'm not seeing why the fuck you'd do something that stupid," Jason shakes his head hard like he's got something in his ear that's preventing him from hearing Tim right. "Mistakes happen, and it sounds like that was one of the best mistakes you could have ever made really. Right up until you 'fixed' it."

Tim sighs and settles back into his perch. The warehouse remains stubbornly empty and quiet though, and Jason's just getting warmed up to a topic that they've both avoided addressing head on for so long. 

Killing.

"The Aramilla made the world glow," Tim says, tired and wishing he was anywhere else even as he can almost taste the phantom traces of the drug that'd made him feel so very _powerful_. "Made it look better even as everything seemed to slow down. I could look at everything so easily, could take my time to study it. I can draw the things I saw in those endless seconds from memory with no problem," and it'd made everything with Bart make so much more sense for him, but that hadn't been until later. When he was home.

"I saw her face, Hood," Tim can still feel the sick clench of his stomach. The sudden drop and cold realization that he'd gone too far, that he'd lost control, that someone was dead and it was his hands that had done it. "Every shift, every impact. I saw the very second she stopped breathing. And I knew, I felt-"

Tim goes silent and he hates Jason in that moment. Loathes him with a kind of heat that he hadn't been able to bring up before. Not even when Tim was losing consciousness or had a knife pressed to his throat.

"You felt fucking great," Jason finishes for him. There's a vicious sort of satisfaction in his voice when he says it, but the emotion on his face when Tim spins around to glare is pained. Knowing. "On top of the damn world with all of the answers right there in your blood covered hands."

Tim can feel the breath leave him in a silent rush, it's a lot like getting sucker punched, because Jason _knows_. Jason's stood there in that moment, again and again. And he's pulled the trigger every time. Again and again.

"It's not the right one," Tim says, and he hates that the words are plaintive. That they make him sound so very much younger than he is.

"Says who?" Jason asks and fixes Tim with a look that he can _feel_ through the domino mask.

Bruce, laws, the world, everyone else. There are a thousand names and laws and morals he can spout off to answer Jay, but Tim doesn't say any of them because they'd only get that mocking laugh out of Red Hood. A casual dismissal and a cruel remark that Tim's not really ready to block just in that moment.

"I do," Tim says the raw truth instead, and his hands clench as he feels the shock of the blows running up his arms still to this day. "Every time I wake up from a dream where I couldn't get her heart started again."

Jason's silent. Eyes still heavy and judging through the lenses. His face wiped clean of any emotion and leaving Tim with nothing more to go on. 

"Target acquired," Cass' smooth voice breaks through on the comm line from her position five blocks away.

Tim inhales sharply and turns back to the warehouse. Crouching down and shoving at the tension still left in him. Getting it into a useful place to be used for the right reasons as a motorcade of black vans pull up.

He's just starting to jump into action when Jason speaks up one last time. "It's a multiple choice question, Red, and the answer is always all of the above."

The rush of air followed by the start of gunfire and shouting keeps Tim from responding, and by the time it's all over and the last man is tied up, Red Hood is gone.


	19. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt asked for Tim to be born with autism, and after the whole thing with Bruce/Kon/Bart being dead his act gets destroyed, and people figure out what he's been keeping secret. I'm not sure how much of that I managed to get across in this brief little ficlet, because I'm only learning about autism through the internet. So, feel free to read as much or little into this as you wish.

Tim is tired. So very, very _tired_.

Things had been going so horribly for so long and nothing he'd done had been able to stop it. He'd poured everything he had into fixing it. More than he had, and none of it had helped.

Kon died. Bart died. Bruce died. And then there'd been Robin and Damian. Dick and Jason and Ra's and Tam and the Spider Council and-

Tim is tired. He's exhausted and done with everything now that the seemingly unstoppable parade of loss has stopped and reversed itself. Just a bit. Just enough for Tim to stop trying so hard.

To just stop everything that's so hard. All the acts he has to keep up, all the rules he has to remember.

"Tim?" It's Bruce. Tim knew that from the puff of the man's deodorant when the library door opened. It's the scent that only comes out when Bruce doesn't have anything else to do and leaves the cologne alone. "Dick's worried."

"Why?" Tim asks. Curious but not overly concerned as he burrows deeper into the blanket he found earlier. There's a faint smell of the strawberry shampoo that Steph used to favor a while ago still on it, and Tim's trying to wrap himself in it.

Bruce's knees come into view and Tim glances over him. Quick and assessing, but Bruce is fine still. Alive still.

"He thinks you're mad," Bruce says as he sits down on a table that's going to get him in trouble if Alfred sees. He ducks his head down to look at Tim's face, and Tim wants to draw back into the blankets. He fixes his eyes on Bruce's knees instead. Too tired to dredge up the energy needed to meet his eyes. "He says you're drawing away and you won't look at him."

"I'm tired," Tim says and there are things he can do, things he can say that will avert this. He has entire scripts, with his own private notations, written up to deal with this. Things that've worked his whole life but- "I'm tired. Tired."

"Tim."

"I'm tired," Tim closes his eyes and doesn't do anything as worry eases into Bruce's voice. "I'm tired."

So very tired and done pretending.


	20. Mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Jay finding Tim by Janet's grave on mother's day, they talk about their moms, and realize how like them they are.

It's not that Jason forgets the particular tragedy that propelled the Pretender fully into the insanity that's taking up a mask and cape. They all have their own triggers, and those things have to be understood in order to really _get_ any of them. It's just easy to forget the fact that Timmy boy lost his mother shortly after disdaining the short pants and going for tights. Easy to forget that he was effectively orphaned by a madman in Haiti with a hard on for poisons. Easy to forget because Tim doesn't base as much of his life around the things he's lost, not like the rest of them do. 

So, it's easy to forget that Janet Drake was a woman, a mother, and now she's dead until Jason comes across a blank faced Tim standing over her grave on Mother's Day. Jason didn't even know what the damn day was until he sees the cheap card tucked behind some wilting flowers.

"She hated this day," Tim says and Jason walks closer, abandoning his half-formed plans for the moment. "It was just another overly commercialized day based on a sentiment she thought was stupid. She never really liked any holidays much. I can't blame her though, I don't get it either."

Jason thinks back to his own mother. She'd loved every holiday, and always made a point of doing something. Even if that something was only slicing up an extra hotdog for their dinner. There was always something about those days that made her happier and glad to be alive. At least until her only happiness started coming out of a needle.

"Eh, holidays are fine, I just avoid the stores though," Jason shrugs, and they're both staring at the grave. Janet Drake, stark and severe compared to some of the other stones around it. Given what Tim's said of the woman, along with what Jason knows of Tim, that probably suits the dead woman best. "They're fun right up until all the sentiment gets shoved down your throat."

Tim hums in agreement and his eyes wander to land on Jason. A slight pressure that makes his face itch. "Shouldn't you go see your mother too? That's why you're here, right?"

It doesn't surprise Jason that Tim knows where his mother is buried. Jason's eyes wander up to the section of the cemetery he was headed towards reluctantly. Bruce had insisted on disinterring her from her pauper's grave when he adopted Jason. Had insisted she get a proper stone he could visit. Just like the monument that Bruce always spends so much time visiting and sacrificing himself to.

Like every other time he's been here, that thought is enough to change Jason's mind. He's never brought flowers along anyway.

"No," Jason turns away and doesn't look back down at Janet, meeting Tim's eyes instead. "She hated depressing shit anyway. She'd much rather I didn't dwell and celebrate."

There's a sad bunch of flowers on Dr. Leslie's desk, and an expensive little box of candies being delivered to Selina Kyle. It's not exactly celebrating but this is a holiday that doesn't call for much more than acknowledgement to be done.

"That might be for the best," Tim doesn't look back down at the grave either as he turns around and starts to walk away. Hands stuffed in his pockets, and Jason follows slowly. "I should probably stop myself, but Dick bugs me about it every year."

"Dick's overly sentimental like that," Jason says and they both don't mention Bruce and his way of memorializing the day. "I'd suggest lying but you're kind of shitty at pulling one over on him."

"Only when it doesn't matter," Tim snaps back, fast but not very angry at the prod. "I'm very good when it does though."

"No shit," Jason snorts as they come to the gates. Overly stylized and foreboding. Jason stops and watches Tim walk away, turning left to where there's a bunch of cars for people he didn't see in the cemetery. 

Tim waves lazily over his shoulder and doesn't stop to see if Jason's going to follow him further. His face, when he turns to get into a bright red car, is bland with a little thoughtful lines in his forehead. The face of someone going out to get toilet paper and trying to remember if they need bread too.

 _Some people feel things more strongly than others_ , Jason remembers his mother telling him one day after he came home early from school. His fists scrapped and tears rolling down his cheeks. _You should always feel lucky that you aren't as emotionless as them._

Jason leans against the propped open gates and wonders for a while if he really is as lucky as she once said he was.


	21. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://ashestodustdusttoashes.tumblr.com/post/86459084138/witchoria-when-you-wish-upon-a-star) is perfection.

"Did you wish upon the stars when you were a kid?" Jason spits out the harsh plastic of the wrap and slaps the gauze down over the bleeding holes on Tim’s chest. "Did they rearrange themselves to spell out a giant fucking nope when you so much as looked at them? Because I swear to fuck this shit only happens to you, Little Red. It’s like you’re cosmically ordained as the puppy to kick."

Tim laughs and blood bubbles up to stain his teeth as his lungs make a really awful sound. “Someone had to take your place.”

"Oh you bitch," Jason presses hard on the sucking fucking chest wound and listens as the sirens draw close. Faster than they ever would if this’d happened anywhere else in the city but the front fucking steps of WE. "Pencil yourself for an ass kicking as soon as you break out of ICU."

"Ok," Tim gurgles out, his insane smile not fading in the least despite the fact he knows Jason’s being dead fucking serious. "Be looking forward to stretching my legs by then."

Jason grins right back and then there’s paramedics everywhere and he has to walk away before anyone gets a better look at his face.


	22. Chapter 22

"Shit!" Jason nearly jumps as something skitters almost over his hand. He pulls out from under the massive bank of the Cave's computer servers. "Is that a roach? I don't think I've ever seen one of those in here before."

"Of course not," Tim says, distracted by something on the screen. "It'd be suicidal for them to be here. The bats would eat them in seconds."

"Not this fucker," Jason peers into the shadows and finds the now still body of the insect. "Look at the size of it! It'd eat the damn bats first. It's the Godzilla of roaches."

"There is _not_ a roach down here," Tim pushes back from the computer and leans over Jason. He's silent for a few seconds as the roach starts from the shift in light. He almost sounds impressed when he speaks again, "That is big cockroach."

"Told you," Jason says smugly. They both look at it for a few more moments. Jason unholsters one of his guns and ejects the magazine to look at the rounds he has in there. "Think I'm going to need a higher caliber for this sucker."

"Are you kidding me?" Tim steps back, head turning to the weapons cases. "That one isn't going down for anything less than a nuclear warhead. Maybe not even that."

Jason grimaces but agrees as he retreats after Tim. They're going to need a hell of a lot of firepower to take it out.


	23. Don't Touch the Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Response to a [few musings](http://ashestodustdusttoashes.tumblr.com/post/94822194543/kaitouhime1412-mooitstimdrake-you-know-how) over on Tumblr.

Some days one of the children will stop what they’re doing and look off into the distance. Their eyes will go vague and their faces will wrinkle up into a confused frown as they search for _something_. Some hint of memory or recollection they do not fully understand, but grasps their attention never the less.

Days like that make Alfred glad he’s physically younger as well. Glad the stiffness in his body is gone, the pain in his back no longer there, and that it is no trouble to scoop the pensive child up and make them forget whatever it is they’re remembering. To hold them up until they smile again. Light and carefree like all children their age are supposed to be.

Like they all _should_ have been.

Richard is the least changed. Much of his childhood had been good and happy. It shines through even now as the boy doesn’t run anywhere when he can flip or cartwheel there. His more worrisome acrobatic tendencies have no room in this new life where Richard Grayson was never raised in a circus. His boundless energy remains though along with a smile and love for his family that is endless.

Jason is remarkably changed. His temper is greater than Alfred would like and he still resorts to his fists before his words. However, there is a lack of an edge to the boy. A sharpness that was always with him before, but is entirely absent now. It makes him less wild somehow. A little less like he’s laughing despite life and more _because_ of life.

Timothy is a delightfully intelligent child. Bright and always so very eager to show off the things he has done. Holding his achievements up with pride and a hunger for approval that has always been with him. He smiles and laughs and does not try to fade into the background when given half a chance.

Stephanie is second to Richard in terms of being unchanged. She runs roughshod over the boys when given half a chance, and can match Jason temper for temper. There is a lack of edge in her too though, and a greater capacity for trust that Alfred is rather ashamed he did not notice in the girl before now.

Cassandra is the most changed of them all. She speaks with a natural ease that he has never seen in her before. Her eyes aren’t as sharp, because she’s not seeing all the things that people are better off leaving unsaid. Not seeing truths that someone her age shouldn’t have to deal with.

Damian is a trial regardless of his upbringing. He is still prone to jealousy and possessiveness, but his trust is much greater. He’s accepted them all as his family though, and the rougher parts of his personality are —as ever— aimed at that which is not something he considers his. The lack of murderous intention makes even that more bearable as well.

Bruce is both changed and completely unchanged. He is the little boy that Alfred remembers so very well. Unstained by blood he is everything that Alfred has wondered over the years watching the child grow up into a grim man. His smiles aren’t false, and his jokes aren’t a mask.

There is no Batman in their lives, and Gotham is a far off city that is only occasionally mentioned on the news that the children do not watch. Gotham is Barbara’s voice, tired but strong, on the phone telling him how things are and asking about the children with no trace of hope in her voice.

They’ve all become accustomed to the fact that there is no cure for this. No spell that will bring the men and women back from the children they are now. Nothing but time will do that.

Alfred thinks about the children. All asleep in their beds upstairs and unlikely to be roused by the noise of scuffling feet from below. He thinks about how they’ll wake up in the morning and wander down the stairs. One by one, all with varying degrees of alertness as they search for breakfast. A routine that Alfred has grown to love and cherish over the past four years.

He thinks about it and, for one traitorous moment, he thinks about what it will do to them to not find him in the kitchen bent over the stove. He thinks about what will happen when they come across him in the parlor instead. Body stiff and cold in a pool of blood.

The jolt of fear fuels him. Gives him the strength he needs to push back against the nameless man wearing a ski mask. To push him off and bend his arm just enough.

"I will _not_ ," Alfred swears over the sound of bone snapping and the sickening sound of metal parting flesh, "allow it to happen again!"

The man —a home invader, possibly addicted to some kind of drug going by his emaciation— goes limp as he dies. Alfred is careful to let the body fall only on the rug. An expensive item, but easily replaced. The man’s thick coat will absorb most of the blood anyway.

Alfred rotates his shoulder and rubs what promises to be a rather nasty bruise on his jaw in the morning. He looks down at the man who dared to try and bring a lifetime of suffering down on the children, and feels no remorse for the outcome of the fight.

There are many things that he will do to protect his charges. To protect _his_ children from the kind of life they had before. This act, that they wold detest so very much before, is but a small drop in that ocean.


	24. Sweets For The Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JJ was brought up in regards to coffee preference.

"One for Daddy," Harley croons as she dumps a large pile of sugar into the mug, giving it a brief stir before pulling it out and digging it back into the sugar bowl for another helping. Coffee clumps up the grains in the bowl and he giggles as the dark color gets absorbed by all the white.

"And one for Mommy!" The second spoonful turns the mug sluggish as the liquid tries to absorb it. Thick clumps cling to the side. stubbornly staying dry and he watches as the cracks slowly form when Harley stirs briskly.

"And _one_ ,” the third spoonful makes a sound when she dumps it in. It’s no longer a drink, no longer a liquid. It’s all solid. A syrupy solid that’s a light brown as Harley mixes it all together with a bright smile he mirrors. “Extra heaping big spoonful of sugar for my cutie-wootie baby-boy, Junior!”

Junior takes the mug, spoon still sticking up out of it at a jaunty angle, and laughs as he eats the slightly coffee flavored crystals. They crack between his teeth in little explosions of sweet and coffee flavoring. He laughs as he scrapes the mug clean, laughs as the tongues the dissolving sugar caught in his mouth, laughs as he throws up all of the sugar into a dark corner that makes his laughter echo even louder.


	25. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for how the Bat brats take their coffee.

Richard prefers his coffee lukewarm if given the choice so Alfred adds a single ice cube to the mug after doctoring it with more cream than is healthy. He’ll start adding just a hint of cinnamon and pumpkin spice when October comes around. Going heavy on the pumpkin until mid November when he will start to decrease it and increase the cinnamon until there’s hardly any pumpkin spice at all by December.

Barbara takes hers in a chipped mug that she had brought to the manor herself years ago. When she’d been too afraid to touch most of the things inside of it. Alfred will add two teaspoons of vanilla sugar and just a dash of whole milk. During the holiday season he will not fill her mug all the way up, because she likes to steal a bit of Richard’s to add to her own.

Jason’s coffee used to be a bit of a chore before the invention of the Keurig. The boy refuses to like anything that’s not cheap coffee, preground and tasting like char straight out of the pot. He will drink it regardless, but Alfred knows it doesn’t suit his tastes. He’ll add milk if it’s summer, and a bit of melted chocolate if it’s cold.

Tim gets decaffeinated whenever Alfred can manage it. Heavily doctored with an array of syrups to hide the fact that three out of four cups don’t have anything in them to make him jittery. The boy drinks at least five times the amount all the other children do and Alfred must make up for some ground.

Stephanie get’s white chocolate and caramel melted into a cup that’s half coffee and half milk. Whipped cream every once in a while when she hasn’t been eying her figure too critically in the mirrors. Alfred will go all out with her cup in December. Dressing it up nicely so that it’s as much a treat to look at as it is to drink, and the girl will adore it.

Cassandra does not drink coffee. Not when she has a choice at least, and Alfred will make her a dark chocolate drink that is warm and bittersweet in winter. In summer she tends to favor teas though. Iced chai teas, the more authentic he can make them the better.

Damian drinks his coffee black. The boy will also drink it with sugar, cream, milk, and anything else that Alfred can think to put in it. As far as he can tell, Damian has to preference when it comes to the drink so long as it is hot.

Bruce normally gets his own coffee. Black, and cold by the time he remembers he filled his cup in the first place. He’ll drink it that way unless someone is around to put it in the microwave for him. A ghastly habit really. Alfred rarely gets to make him a cup anymore, but when he does it’s piping hot with three cubes of sugar partially dissolved and a healthy gulp of cream.


	26. Math is Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asked for prompts and got Cass being frustrated with lessons and Bruce comforting her by telling her he never finished formal education himself.

The math is hardest on her. The numbers are a new language with rules she only half understands. It helps when she can link it to the things she does know. Angles are easy. It's just a new name for something that is as instinctive as breathing to her. A label to call it by. She can put them together if she struggles to remember what they are called.

_Acute, obtuse, straight, right._

Names for numbers for actions. Three different languages and only one of them she is fluent in. She remembers when she never had to know more than that. When it wasn't expected of her and her ignorance wasn't seen as a bad thing. One language was enough then and she didn't need to know more than that. But one language isn't enough anymore. She must know two and three and _four_. 

The languages never really end.

A heavy hand is dropped onto her shoulder, and Cass is confronted again with the expectation that she can read so clearly in everyone but can't understand. Bruce is smiling with his eyes and the ease of tension in his jaw. He reads her as carefully as she is reading the numbers right now, but with far more ease than she is.

"It takes work," he explains with words instead of a look. Forcing her to use her new languages in a way meant to make her learn. The mask of his face smiles ruefully and there's some truth to it that she is not used to seeing from it. The others call this mask Brucie and the name usually fits it. "Just be glad you're not going to an actual school."

Cass has spent time studying schools. Has looked in on the students and seen them interact enough to know the truth in his words. Just her brief glimpses into one had nearly overwhelmed her with everything that happened and went unspoken. She can't imagine being among that and having to know all the other languages too. 

"How?" She asks and doesn't elaborate like the others would make her do. He knows, he understands her perfectly.

"Practice, repetition. That's how I learned," his fingers curl over hers and she follows the movement as he guides her pencil over the numbers. He sounds and looks amused as he continues to talk. "Dick's the only one in the family with a diploma. I never finished school myself. Just picked it all up when I traveled."

The lessons are hard learned and beaten into his body. Some in scars visible, but most are not. He understands number the way she does. As things instinctive that he must struggle to put into first one language then another to relate them. It eases her to know this. To know it is possible to do this. He did it, and so can she.

Cass smiles up at him and the smile in his eyes leaks out onto his mask for just a bit.


	27. DILF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked for Bruce reacting to the term DILF, and really, the kids had to learn their sassy somewhat sadistic humor from someone. It's not all innate ability.

Dick's face is priceless. He's got a haunted, thousand yard stare as he freezes. Bruce can read his urge to flee in every stiff line of his eldest son's body. Jason is choking. On his drink, some food, or maybe even air. Bruce doesn't know which but the man is torn between abject horror and unholy glee. A dual slam of emotions that shouldn't be possible, but Jason has always taken pride in being able to pull off things like that.

Tim mirrors Dick but goes more for the deer in a headlight look. Much to Cass's amusement as she starts to poke at his face. She's laughing at them all, and Bruce is only half sure she doesn't understand what is happening. Half sure because Stephanie is smothering her laughter against Cass' shoulder. Her back shaking with each suppressed snort, and Bruce is almost 100 percent sure the girl took Cass' education of slang in hand a long time ago.

Damian is the only one unaffected and stares between Bruce and the young women who aren't showing any shame whatsoever at their loud proclamation. "I don't understand. What is a DILF?"

"Oh god," Dick or Tim mutter just before Jason looses it and starts _baying_ with laughter.

"Me, kiddo," Bruce claps one hand over the boy's shoulder and winks at the giggling group. Giving them his very best rakish grin to make them blush hard and make his children groan at the act. "I am the top DILF in the country right now."

He is, and there's three different magazines waiting back home to back him up on that. He's going to have to start leaving them out if this is the reaction it gets him.


	28. Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for Damian reacting to finding out his mom considers Jason her son as well as Bruce.

It's hard to take, but Damian reluctantly admits it makes sense.

Father has a large heart. One he guards cautiously, but can be seen in the way he picks strays up constantly. Richard, Drake, Todd, Cassandra. Brown and Gordon to a lesser degree. Father sees things in people constantly that Damian doesn't understand, and perhaps never will.

Mother is harder to please though. She does not begrudge him the children he's taken in, but she has also never acknowledged any of them. At least not until now.

It galls Damian that out of all of them it is Todd that has his mother's favor. The man is as much at odds with father and mother as he is with them. He switches sides and favors too quickly for Damian to bother keeping track of. Someone of such dubious loyalty should not be considered a son, but Damian can see it in the way mother's fingers linger on Todd's cheek. The way her sharp smile softens and the pride that shines through in her eyes as she looks over the men Todd has killed.

Damian is still the true son. Their blood runs through him, but mother has always favored healthy competition. Has often said it made men strive to be better. Damian watches Todd closely and suspiciously. Charting his movements more thoroughly than he had before and formulating a plan to overcome this unexpected rival. Drake has father's favor, and Damian still struggles to push the older boy out of it. Now he must also watch for Todd gaining too much of mother's favor as well.

It's a struggle to compete with them both, but Damian was made for this kind of life and he has no doubts he will prevail.


	29. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Jason and Talia.

He's drowning. Jason's drowning in anger and betrayal and rage, and it all feels like he's at the bottom of a hole clawing his way up through the dirt. Wood splintering along with his nails, but he tastes blood and rancid water instead of dirt when he tries to scream. He chokes on it and flails with nothing to anchor him until cold fingers hold him tight.

Sharp and hard. The pain bringing him back as much as the coldness of her skin. He's still drowning when he opens his eyes to look up at Talia, but it's easier to get in desperate gasps of air around it all with her severe eyes boring into him. Demanding he come back enough to do it, and not willing to accept it when he shakes his head.

Words press into his ears and he doesn't understand them but the tone is as sharp as the nails digging licks of fire through his arms. More pain and more of an anchor that he latches onto. Pulling it all in tight to him as he struggles hard to pull himself up an out. It's like breaking free of the dirt. When his finger met open air for the first time, and his lungs took in sweet, fresh air after the stale and rotten smelling air he'd had before.

Jason reaches for it and clings as hard as he can. More words press into his ears but he thinks these ones are his own, and he's so desperate he doesn't care that he's probably begging.

"Breathe," the word makes its way through the blockage in his ears and Jason clings to it all as he obeys.


	30. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested scenario: the four boys are captured and Bruce can only save three of them. You don't need your heart do you?

Bruce stays late into the night and doesn't hear anything said to him before he is alone once more. The dirt over the grave has been tamped down and the flowers are starting to brown. He notes this clinically as he kneels. The faint traces of dew starting to gather soak into the cloth of his trousers, but it's such a small thing he doesn't notice it beyond yet another sensation his son will never feel again.

He should have been faster. Should have been better. He goes over that night again and again. Every minute of everyday since he failed to be the kind of father his children need. Again.

Bruce carefully reaches out and rubs off a small trace of dirt from the marble stone. He traces the darkened lines of words etched on it without truly seeing them anymore. He's not seeing the stone right now. He's seeing his boys as they were then. Seeing their faces as they all realize that Bruce wouldn't be able to save them all.

Damian had looked irritated, but the emotion had barely covered the abject fear the boy had been trying hard to hide. Tim had looked so grim and had been running the numbers through his mind again and again even as time slipped away from them. Jason hadn't bothered looking at him. His jaw set and defiant and Bruce knows he was expecting to be the one to die again. Dick had been furious. Angry at the situation and livid at the way Bruce had hesitated over the horrible decision.

The choice he had to make or face losing them all.

He doesn't ask if he made the right choice, doesn't beg for forgiveness. He carefully cleans his son's grave of any trace of dirt and silently accepts that he failed. No matter what he would have chosen in that moment. He failed them all the moment her ran with only three of his children.

And now, he has to live with that.


	31. A Night to Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for the boys to wake up in bed together in only their underwear and no memory of how they got there. Not really shippy so I can't shohorn it anywhere else.

"I blame you," Damian says solemnly, and it's kind of unfair but Dick admits --to himself-- that this does seem like something that would be his fault.

 

"I don't remember last night," Tim says and he sounds traumatized more at the loss of time than the fact that he's wearing underwear that is obviously not his. Dick carefully notes which underwear he's going to be burning later and files it away.

Jason's licking the back of his teeth with an intent look of concentration that doesn't go unnoticed by any of them. "Ivy," he eventually declares, and that makes sense. There's not much out there that give leave him with the dulled sensation of being blackout drunk without also leaving him with the unpleasant sensation of a massive hangover.

"It is still your fault," Damian declares as he climbs over Dick and Tim. Not being careful of his bony knees or elbows as he gets out of bed. He reaches down to hold up the smiley faced boxers that are too big for him when he stands up, and his glare ups a notch when Jason snickers at him. "You were the one who was looking into her activities."

Also true. Dick shrugs and grins at the boy as he turns and leaves in obvious disgust at having woken up cuddling Jason. An amusing image that hadn't lasted long enough for Dick to get a picture of unfortunately.

"I don't remember anything," Tim says, not phased that Damian is gone and still stuck on that one point. Jason starts to laugh and Dick reaches over to pat Tim's back comfortingly when something alarming catches his eye.

"Is that a hickey?!"

Jason stops laughing with a choked sound and his head snaps around fast. "Where?"

"There," it isn't so much a hickey as a series of them starting on one side of Tim's neck and going down to his shoulder and chest. Vivid and growing darker as they stare at it in understandable horror. Dick catches a glimpse of a bruise much lower but he doesn't have the courage to pull the sheets away to confirm it.

"I don't remember last night," Tim repeats and the emphasis on the words makes complete sense now.

"Oh, crap," Jason eventually manages to say for them all, and Dick really, really hates Ivy.


	32. Would You Rather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for everyone else being sick and Tim being fine.

It's not a good night for Gotham to be without most of her protectors. Tim's running himself into the ground trying to cover the worst of it. Get to the most dangerous situations and break them up before they can turn deadly. They seem to be happening on opposite sides of the city and he's not even trying to roof hop anymore. He's on his bike making dangerous runs through the worst parts of the city. Scanning the radio frequencies himself and prioritizing a hostage situation over an armed robbery in progress.

There's a thousand leaks and Tim's only got two hands to bail with but he doesn't stop trying. Doesn't pause to consider throwing int he towel and letting the GCPD do their jobs for once. He just keeps track of all the traffic and makes another right turn. He doesn't even slow as he whips past a mugging. Just extends one foot to slam into the perp's back and takes off before the man's even all the way down. More hurt than he would be if Tim had any time to spare.

It's not ideal and Tim knows he's going to end up hurting himself before the night is over, but the alternative doesn't even bare thinking about right now. No way is Tim sticking around the manor when its filled with sick and grumpy vigilantes too out of it on cold medicine to bother pulling their punches. He'd much rather let Gotham grind him into a paste than deal with that.


	33. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested fluff with Dick annoying Bruce and getting his brothers to join in.

"Damian is going to run away and join the circus," Dick begins and Bruce stifles his sigh in his coffee. Breakfast isn't even ready yet and he's already starting.

"What's he going to be, the Amazing Angry Midget?" Jason asks with a grin and Bruce doesn't even know how he keeps getting into the Manor. He's changed the code to the Cave and swapped out all the keys to the doors. He probably just knocks and Alfred lets him in.

"Lion tamer," Tim puts in. He's still not all the way awake and it shows because the job description isn't the best he can do, but the fact that he's trying is telling enough. "With the whip and roars."

"Do you expect me to be the lion or the tamer Drake?" Damian asks and the fact that he's even engaging them all in this spells out Bruce's doom. Dick has finally converted the youngest boy over to his evil ways.

"Yes," Tim mumbles into his mug and Bruce has to fight the smile that wants to come out of that, because that will only encourage this.

"No way, he'd be a circus monkey," Jason says and amuses himself by inching the coffee carafe away from Tim's groping hand. "Blame B for those jumping monkey genes you got. It's clearly his fault we'd all do better in a circus than anywhere else."

"You'd make a good angry clown," Dick says ad firmly grabs the coffee. Taking pity on the plaintive looking Tim and topping his mug up. "Tim can be the fortune teller. Feed him enough coffee and he'll tell you your future."

Damian scoffs which is his version of a laugh and Bruce allows himself to let out the tiniest sigh in reward. Dick perks up immediately at it like Bruce knew he would, and starts spinning out more jobs for them all. "Cass and Steph can be ribbon dancers. Oh, no! The dagger act! Babs would make a great strong woman, and Alfred would be the best ring master."

"What would Bruce be?" Jason obligingly asks the set up question that Dick's been working his way to from the beginning, because he can't just go for anything simple. He has to turn it into a production.

"Isn't it obvious?" Dick's grinning with his mouth and his eyes, and Jason's the same. Damian seems intrigued, and Tim is still lost in his cup. Bruce braces himself. "He is the Night!"

It's horrible and awful and not even very clever but Jason looses it and Dick joins him. Both clearly pleased at the annoyed look Bruce can't hide no matter how hard he tried. Damian looks confused and Bruce wonders if it's not too late to lure the boy back and away from Dick's poor influence.

"Would the Night care for more coffee or some juice for breakfast?" Alfred asks as he comes in with the cart of plates. Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as the boys get even louder.

Some days he wonders why he even bothered taking them all in.


	34. Forgive Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asked for Jason becoming the heir to the All-Caste and then meeting up with Bruce and his brothers for the first time since his death. The 52 and I don't see eye to eye so this really might not be accurate.

Forgive and forget. Forget and forgive. The philosophies he's been drilled with for years all tend to boil down to that in the end, and Jason had agreed with them. It's why he'd stayed when offered the chance to leave and go back to the life that he used to have. 

Forgive, forgive, forgive.

It's hard. Harder than he thought it would be to forgive when he's faced with the obvious signs that the life he left has moved on without him. Bruce and Dick aren't a surprise. They're the same as they ever are, and exactly as he remembers them. What is a surprise are the other two with them.

They're both Robins and fit the same mold started with Dick. Black haired and blue-eyed. Jason wonders if they call Bruce father too, if Dick puts them in headlocks and calls them little brother.

Forget, forget, forget.

The philosophies he's taken to heart war with the red rage of the pit. A constant battle that Jason hasn't lost in a good long while, but tips dangerously now as Bruce walks right past him with no recognition in his face at all. 

Forgive and forget. Simple concepts that are hard to grasp when Jason finds out her hasn't forgiven everything and that he's not the one who has forgotten.


	35. Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asked for Cass reacting to friends and family wanting to sign her cast and she doesn't understand why.

It starts with the cast itself. 

She's taken to the hospital because the break happens in public and it's expected. It doesn't even hurt that much. She's had worse. The smiling doctor isn't all that concerned and is distracted when he asks her what color she wants. Cass hasn't had a cast before and doesn't know the protocol for it. She looks to Tim for an explanation.

"Just get white," Tim says with his fake smile on his lips and a real one in his eyes. "Any other color will hide the signatures."

The last comment puzzles her until she gets home and Stephanie gets into a playful slapping fight with Dick over the black marker. She watches as her friend wins and holds the marker up in obvious triumph and glee. "First!"

"Cheater," Dick grumps with a grin and follows her over to where Alfred has insisted Cass sit. It's the most comfortable chair that is usually Bruce's but he gave it up with no fuss. The unnecessary crutches are propped up on the wall next to her and her overly encased foot is raised on a cushion. Cass was thinking about breaking off the portion of the cast that are not needed before her siblings came in.

She watches as Steph's critically eyes her foot and uncaps the marker. Tim's comment and Steph's action making things a little clearer. The marker leaves thick, black lines as Steph writes her name across the broad expanse of it from ankle to knee. She dots the i with a star and scribbles a few faces on either side of her name. As soon as she's done Dick swoops in to add his own name. On the top around the edge that stops under her knee. Bruce and Alfred watch with indulgent smiles as Tim writes his name opposite of Steph's in cramped writing. 

Cass watches as they all sign with their name, and not one single explanation as to why. Even her littlest brother signs. Grudgingly and every bit as mystified as she is about what is clearly some tradition they've never heard of before. There's space left when they're done and Cass thinks it looks odd, but that it will probably be filled up soon enough. 

The name of her family and friends line the hard cast she was considering removing, and Cass finds herself not wanting to break it off anymore. She likes it. Likes having this reminder to wear. She doesn't understand why they did it but she looks up and smiles back at them all as warmth unravels in her at this sign of their love like always.


	36. Allergies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asked for the Bats dealing with allergies.

"Damn Ivy," Jason says and it's a sentiment that Tim would fully support and echo if he didn't feel like the slightest deviation in his breathing will lead to him trying to cough out his lungs again.

It would just figure that the eco-terrorist would figure out a particular strain of weed that spreads quickly and produces the kind of pollen that _no one_ is immune to. Tim's never been bothered by allergies before, has only looked on mystified as people react strangely at different times of the year. They're all probably smug right now as Gotham waits out the pollen storm that's lingering long after the plant that produced them is dead and gone.

"Gonna burn every place she has when I can," Jason sounds strange and nasally. He's gone through at least a pound of tissue already and Tim thinks he's gotten off lightly compared to everyone else.

Tim can't even talk. He just huddles under the blankets he stole from somewhere and keeps the dust mask firmly in place. It doesn't block it all but it helps him to keep his breathing normalized. A filtered mask would be even better, but Damian's proven to be particularly susceptible and all their supplies are staying in the Cave to try and pull the boy through this without him going into an actual asthmatic attack or something.

Tim can sympathize but it's hard to not feel resentful when every breath in feels like it's pushing on a block of dirt in his lungs. When his eyes itch and water, and giving in to any of those sensations puts him dangerously close to throwing up.

"Everything," Jason promises darkly and Tim thrusts one hand out of his blankets to give the man an agreeing hand signal.


	37. Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass and Damian not understanding traditions and trying to figure it out for themselves.

"This is disgusting," Damian says as he looks at his hand and the fist full of vegetable innards. It squishes uncomfortably and is slimy. Feeling the ropy strands dangling from between his fingers is not something that he finds himself enjoying at all. Neither does Cassandra going by the nonplussed look on her face as she adds her hand full of orange goop to the bowl they were provided with when they brought the pumpkins in and explained their intentions.

Damian looks doubtfully at the pictures they printed out earlier to help them in this. The process is explained in several pictures filled with laughing and smiling people that have to be lying. There is nothing enjoyable in this activity at all. Even the carving doesn't look like it will be fun.

"This will work," Cassandra says but it comes out questioning as she picks up one of the many tools they bought that claim to be specifically made for carving pumpkins. The metal of the pick she's holding bends as she puts the slightest bit of pressure on it, and Damian does not see how they are supposed to use it carve a face into the rather thick shell of the vegetable. Soft as it is the metal tools look even weaker.

"The instructions say it will," Damian says doubtfully as he finally sees the sense in the large scraping tool that he had ignored earlier. His hand is still in contact with the messy innards but it helps some. It's also easier to scrape the inside clean with the plastic tool which all the instructions have informed him he must do before inserting the candle or the pumpkin will ignite itself. Personally, Damian thinks that sounds much more fun, but they are both determined to understand this tradition as it is.

"What face do we use?" Cassandra wonders as she holds out a variety of stencils that Damian hadn't wanted to use but is now changing his mind on. The kit is clearly the way to go and second guessing it is not in his best interest.

There's a variety of stencils though and Damian looks at them with his sister. They range in a variety of stages of ridiculousness and Damian doesn't see that any one of them is better than the others. He eventually stabs one finger at a stencil in the middle of the stack that seems the least offensive and Cassandra nods her agreement. She tapes it onto the outside of the pumpkin and takes one of the tools provided to outline the shape.

It bends alarmingly before snapping in half when she stabs it in. Damian frowns and reaches for one of the other kits they bought. There were a dozen available and they hadn't been able to pick out one as being superior to another, so they bought one of each. "One of these will have to work."

And maybe they'll understand this obsession with carving vegetables by the time they are done.


	38. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked; "Jason leaves Gotham and nobody really cares until they realize he isn't coming back. Jason's done with his rage, but he's also done with his family. Batfam feel trainwreck."
> 
> Failed filling it though. Can't really wrap my mind around it.

Even then it doesn't sink in until no one can find him after searching, and Tim had ignored the unspoken warning and gone to a Super to try tracking him down. Even with meta help though Jason can't be found and that's when they start to pay more attention to the note he left with Alfred. The explanation is succinct and goes straight to the brutal point. 

He's done with being angry and the family does nothing but make him that way.

It's stunning and painful when it sinks in, and it happens slowly. Dick accepts it first. With a reluctance that's obvious, and only happens after a long conversation with Alfred that no one is let in on. Damian doesn't accept it only because he never accepted Jason as anything more than an annoyance that he's glad to see gone. He makes no secret of his feeling and it is this that helps Bruce silently close the searches he had going for his son. 

Cassandra says nothing. Only shrugs when it is brought up and carefully doesn't look at anyone when they ask her if it's true. If Jason really was angry all the time around them. A damning admission that makes her eyes turn sad. Tim doesn't accept it and won't let it go, but it's more of reflexive habit that keeps him looking for Jason. That nagging what-if making him keep the trace on in the background even as he starts to move onto other cases, and admits that he's really not surprised.

In the end, they don't talk about it at all. They don't really talk about Jason and he becomes an awkward silence that would have pissed the man off to no end if her knew about it. But he doesn't know about it, and he never will.


	39. Time Warp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked for Damian and Cass reacting to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. And I am evil enough to make Cass insist on the live shows.

Cassandra insists they go to the live show first, because it's a limited run and they might miss something if they wait to watch the DVD Damian found in Richard's room. 

Damian decides immediately that he is never listening to another idea from his sister ever again, and he declares it the fifth time he gets his cheeks pinched by people in corsets and feathers who try to paint his face to match theirs. Cassandra laughs at him and her eyes are bright in a way that is all too rare for him to see. It must be the glitter paint smeared around her eyes, but Damian allows himself to hold still the next time a man in heels pulls out a tube of red lipstick.

This is nothing like the movie theaters Richard tends to drag them to. There are seats but few people are actually even sitting in them. The screen is suspended over a stage that is filled with props and Damian has a suspicion that they are meant to be used during the event. He hears 'audience participation' get thrown around a few too many times for his own comfort.

"The show hasn't even started yet," he grumbles as Cassandra produces a vivid green boa from somewhere and wraps it around his neck. The feathers itch his skin and nose and he pulls on it until it's not as annoying. "Why are they so exuberant?"

The crowd is a living thing that moves around them laughing and smiling in ways that make Damian's neck prickle. Cassandra guides them towards the back. It's no less crowded there but Damian feels better instantly when he has a wall at his back. A woman far too old to be wearing her undergarments as outerwear gives them a dazzling smile. "Don't worry, they have the good speakers set up so you'll hear everything just fine back here too," she gives a wink more exaggerated by the fake lashes glues to her face as she hands them both wrapped lollypops. "It's the best place in the house to see the screen for your little brother."

Damian loses the candy fast because he doesn't trust anything edible being handed out in this crowd, but Cassandra show no hesitation in eating hers. She's having fun despite herself. He cannot begrudge her that.

He can, however, feel dread as the lights dim slightly and a wave of anticipation goes through the crowd as images start to flicker across the screen. "What have I got myself into?"

Cassandra laughs.


	40. Get Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for the boys all in a Get Along shirt.

Steph crosses her legs and clenches hard on the muscles in her abdomen to not embarrass herself in an unfortunate way no one will ever let her live down. The tears streaming from her eyes and the ache in her ribs as she desperately tries to drag in enough air to not suffocate help. Right up until her eyes clear enough for her to see Tim and Damian's faces again.

Cass crouches down next to her and runs her fingers through Steph's hair as she laughs and gasps and tries very hard not to pee herself laughing at the image of all four of the boys stuck in a shirt that really should only fit two of them. And might fit three if Tim or Damian manage to get enough room to follow up on the threatening promises in their eyes.

"I swear," Dick says, calm and utterly deadly in a way that few people hear off the streets. "If there are pictures, anywhere, my revenge will be the stuff of legends."

"Fuck that, I'm killing anyone who sees them," Jason growls in rare agreement --sort of-- with Dick. Which means the shirt is obviously already working.

Steph can't stop laughing, and it doesn't help when Alfred walks into the dangerous striking zone with a camera and takes a single picture. The older man arches one eyebrow in a challenge that everyone knows won't be met before walking away.


	41. Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Tim asking Jason for help when looking for Bruce.

Jason laughs and Tim waits because it's a better reaction than what he was expecting. It's not lethal or physically harmful in any way, and Tim's getting used to being thought of as crazy. He's not but he's used to feeling like he just might be a little more off than he thinks he should be at this point in his life.

The laughter trails off and the look Jason gives him is hard and brittle. "And why should I get off my ass to help?"

The fact that he's not questioning means he believes Tim. Believes he's telling the truth and not just going off the deep end. It loosens some of the tight feeling he's been carrying since he left the Manor. The unspoken assurance that someone believes him feels really good.

"To get him back," Tim states plainly. He continues quickly before Jason can respond to that and take them off course. "So that you can confront him on whatever message it was that he left you."

Because whatever Bruce said in that video got under Jason's skin bad. Real bad. Taking those words and ramming them down Bruce's throat is probably the only thing Tim can offer to get Jason's help. From the tight look on Jason's face when he turns to look at him, Tim knows he's right.

"Fine," Jason says eventually and the tone of his voice is deadly when he adds on, "but my help is going to cost you."

"Fine," Tim knows it will but Jason's help in this will be worth it, and it won't cost as much once Jason's calmed down. Any price is worth it though as long as he doesn't have to do this alone. "Let's get started."


	42. Aye, Dark Overlord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Dick being a little shit and the family having to put up with it. The title is a card game that is very fun and can also be very excruciating depending on what your chosen Overlord does.

"It's my birthday," Dick says smugly and doesn't even try for the whine they all know he can do. The drawn out one that's just pathetic enough to make even B feel sad and sorry. He doesn't bother with it for once because he damn well knows he's got them all right where he wants them.

And there's not a single thing any of them can do about it.

"Dammit, Dickhead," Jason grinds out between his grit teeth even as he knows it's a losing battle. "Have some fucking respect for a fellow human being!"

Jason appeals to Dick's sense of humanity because he knows how little appealing to his sense of fraternal bonds will get him. About five feet further back from where he is now. Hanging precariously over a pit of shame and humiliation.

"No," Dick says immediately. Not even trying to pretend to give it some thought. "It's my birthday and you didn't get me anything. You _owe_ me."

"Just sit down, Jason," Tim says with a defeated tone. He'd been the first to cave. Half conditioning and half smarts as he recognized a lost cause when he saw it. 

Jason sits reluctantly and looks around the card table at the assembled glum expressions of pain and horror. "Fuck, _none_ of us got him anything?"

No one answers his pretty rhetorical question and Dick cackles as he shuffles the cards he produced from seemingly nowhere. "Alright, if everyone's clear on the rules we can begin. Isn't that right, _minions_?"

Dick looks over them all with a raised eyebrow and Jason groans before looking at the cartoonish cards he's been dealt as he mumbles along with the rest of the family, "Aye, Dark Overlord."


	43. Power Outage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for that most dreaded of things. A power outage right in the middle of doing an online, timed test.

The scream wakes Stephanie up from a hazy but pleasant dream about beating people in the face with fish. She's awake and off the couch in seconds. Alert and scanning the unnaturally dark surroundings as she strains to hear more, to pick up any clue as to what's going on at all.

The sound doesn't repeat itself and in the utter silence that she strains to pierce she picks up on the fact that the power is out. The low grade hum of electronics and cool air powering the fridge is gone. A glance at the window confirms that the street outside is darker than it should be as well.

Steph doesn't bother trying to stay quiet as she gets up from her defensive crouch with a sigh. "Tim?"

There's no answer but the silence coming from the room that Tim has set up as a study has a weight to it. She nearly trips over Tim's coffee table heading too it. Long hours of working at night give her all the help she needs to find Tim's still shape sitting in a rolling chair in front of a desk that usually has nothing less than three computers on it at any time.

"It's just a power outage," Steph says when Tim still doesn't say anything. "Whatever you were typing will come back up when it comes back on. I'm surprised you don't have a back up battery on those yet."

"It's on order," Tim says in a deceptively calm voice that shakes and makes dread curl up in the pit of her stomach. "And I'm not worried about the case files. I know those saved."

"Then what?" Steph cautiously makes her way into the room. Scooting her feet along the floor to not step on anything unexpectedly pointy and sharp. She reaches Tim's side and reaches out to touch his shoulder. He's shaking and panic begins to bleed into her. "What is it!? What happened?"

Tim opens his mouth. She can hear a dry click as he tries to speak and it takes him two tries to actually form words. "It was the midterm, Steph. The timed midterm."

Steph goes still. The panic freezes and shrivels with a relieved frisson of adrenaline the only sign it was there. Steph swallows hard on the laughter that wants to come out as she gently pats Tim's shoulder. Swallows it down because only half of it is over the absurdity of the situation. The other half is pure sympathetic panic.

"It's ok," Steph soothes as Tim makes a noise that's indescribable with human words. "You can use my phone to send panicked emails to the professor. Remember, if you mail bomb him enough he has to believe you, right?"


	44. Arson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from a fic that never was. I didn’t plan it so there’s no point it was reaching towards. Think I’ve held onto it in the hopes more would come. Also it's Hearts' birthday and they asked for anything I could finish, and it's been a while since I wrote DC.

Any story that begins with, ‘I was playing with some matches,’ isn’t going to end with, 'happily ever after.’ If you’re lucky it ends with some firetrucks, several thousands of dollars in damages, and a trip to the ER for minor burns. Predictably Luck has turned her back on Gotham for the night. Then again, a fire this big can’t have been started with just a pack of matches.

Rough concrete scratches at Tim’s face as his body tries to forcibly eject his lungs. Across the street the remains of the apartment begin to collapse. The GFD has already evacuated the area and are currently pulling back. Smart of them. Tim fully plans on doing the same as soon as he can breathe again.

It’s kind of funny how he can find he really needs something right after he decides to leave it behind. Tim had decided to leave a lot of his duplicate gear behind for once before patrol. Why would he need more than three air filters, anyway? Obviously he’d need more than three if he came across a fire with three kids stuck inside it. Idiot.

It’s strangely comforting that the internal voice berating him sounds an awful lot like Jason. No one else Tim knows can give quite the same spin of condescending sarcasm needed for that thought.

Taking a cautious breath Tim is pleased when he doesn’t immediately start coughing again. Now is the time to get as far away from the fire as possible. With a pit stop by the evacuation site to see if anything else has gone wrong. Maybe subtly ask if the medics have any spare tanks of oxygen.

Firing a line out he goes to the next building and begins to scan for lights. Hopefully the news mongers haven’t gotten to it first. A normal fire isn’t much cause for news, but Tim had stumbled across more than one burning corpse on his way out. He’s not surprised when he spots the familiar figures with their cameras.

Tim groans and stops to crouch down, making his silhouette smaller. He shouldn’t have bothered hoping. Death always draws the reporters. The press is being held at bay by a few harassed looking officers while paramedics treat those that had escaped. The cameras are all on one side of the street though. If he’s careful he can get close from the other side without being seen.

He drops down into an alley and makes his way to the street. At the mouth he stops. No sense going any further when he has plenty of cover here. All he had to do is wait.

It’s only a few minutes before one of the uniforms steps away from the noise, radio up, obviously trying to hear something. The faint street lights glint off his collar and give Tim enough to start with.

“Corporal,” it’s better to call him by his rank. It usually makes cops more cooperative at the sign of respect. Usually.

“Who’s there!” The gun isn’t quite drawn, but it also isn’t exactly in the holster either. Tim smirks, he’s ahead by two now. As long as no one pulls anything on Nightwing for the next three hours Tim will win the night’s wager.

Red Robin steps forward so that half his body is in the light. Hopefully the corporal isn’t one of those 'we don’t need masks’ types. It’s always harder to get straight answers out of them, and Tim really just wants and easy answer so he can go away and quietly find some bottled oxygen to breathe for a few minutes. The man relaxes slightly and releases his weapon. It probably helps that the rescue crew had seen Tim stumble out of the building with the kids before the first firetruck had pulled in. “Any info yet?”

“Not really,” the corporal looks over his shoulder uneasily, but gives up the information fairly easily. “They think it was deliberate, but we got to wait for the fire to die before arson comes in. Um, you see anything in there?”

“Bodies,” he hates arson cases. It’s almost guaranteed that he’ll smell like gasoline by the end of the week if there’s no clear suspect within the first night. Gotham has attracted too many serial arsonists with actual brains lately for him to think otherwise. A burst of radio traffic catches the cop’s attention. Tim has what he needs for now. It’s time to call it a night, so he takes the distraction for what it is and leaves.

It’s a habit that annoys the GPD, but Tim will admit it’s pretty funny to watch them startle and try to look around for where he went afterwards. It’s the little things, as Dick is so fond of saying all the time, that make the job worth doing.


	45. Love

Love is something she’s only starting to understand. She’s felt it all her life, but it’s only now that she’s starting to recognize how different it is in everyone.

Dick loves too much and just enough. Just enough for those he loves, and too much for himself. He expects more from his love than he gets, and loves longer than he should. It makes him easier for others to love though.

For Barbara love is grim and dangerous to people who would hurt who she loves. Her love is pushing and always watching for the knife in the dark. It puts her on that line they are not supposed to cross, and may one day push her across it.

Most think Jason doesn’t love. They’re wrong. Jason loves too much. He loves fast and hard to the point where he ends up hurt. He tries to protect himself. To push away with words and actions, but it never helps. He still loves too much even after being hurt.

With Tim love is slow and he doesn’t know when to let that love go. He’s thoughtful and careful. Looking at love the same way he looks at a fight. All angles and force and necessary risk. He controls his love right up until it controls him and he doesn’t know what to do as it drags him down.

Steph was taught to love wrong from the start. Love the wrong people for the wrong reasons. It’s hurt her, but she has learned from the pain. She still loves wrong, but her lessons are becoming instinct. She hasn’t been hurt as much by it lately.

Damian doesn’t know how to love. He feels it, he knows it. He doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to exist with it, and he fights it because the love he has is vast and terrifying. He was taught that his love was too much before coming to them, and is slow to give into it.

Age has worn Alfred’s love to something comfortable and precious. He doesn’t give it freely to everyone, but it is always there for the family. Always surrounding them. His family. It’s easy to forget his love stands him on that line with Barbara, but it feels safer somehow.

Bruce loves reluctantly. Love has hurt him and he wants to hide it away. Lock it up and guard it tight so it won’t ever hurt again. He has to remind himself to extend his love. Remind himself he’s given it to others. It’s a quiet love for the tempering, but it is there when it is needed.

Cass doesn’t know what love is for her. It’s easier to read it in the others than herself. Easy to feel her love react to theirs. She can’t describe it though. Not yet. So she watches it in others and silently compares it to hers. Finding similarities and differences. Some that clash like fists, and others that compliment like hugs.

Time will explain more and Cass is content to let it.


End file.
